not a serious joel blog

i am legally only allowed to vibe with djaq.

[healthkits-a]

unpreemp​:

Despite his desperate fisting, Bigby is reminded once more that he had been a virgin when the tip of the alpha’s cock settles against his fluttering rim.   It feels big,  like his fingers hadn’t,  enough.   The wolf inside him begrudging admits that the position is acceptable,  much better than being on his back,  belly up,  throat exposed.   And then all parts of him go silent as he’s suddenly filled up,  hips jerked back so his ass swallows the whole length. The Big Bad Wolf wails. He’s taken some abuse.   Cut open,  his meal of six goats replaced with rocks that cause him to drown.   Nearly beheaded.   Stomach ripped to shreds.   He always comes back.   But he’s not sure if he’ll come back from this,  not right.   With his partners,  he’s usually the dominant one.   It’s the wolf mixed with his personality,  the desire to have control in the things that he can.   Thoughts of doing that are absent as the alpha cock inside him makes space for itself deep.                ❝ Uhn! ❞ he cries out every time his ass is hit with hips,  skin quickly bruising and becoming hot to the touch.   ❝ Uhn!   Uhn!   Uhn! ❞   He never wanted this for himself (  but it feels so good  ).   Bigby is filled with so much shame he lowers down onto his forearms,  shaking hands covering his face.   The shift in position has the alpha grazing something that makes him shout,  overwhelming sensation causing him to try to squirm away.   Not that he wants to, not really. And why would he?   The squelch of his hole and smack of skin against skin,  being filled just right,  causes his cock bounce with the movements,  hard.   He’s almost afraid to touch it it’s so hard,  perpetually spilling pre - until it’s about as large a puddle as his cunt had produced.   Bigby scratches at the ground,  arching his back for the stranger (  stranger.   Someone he doesn’t know is fucking him right now and the thought makes him clench down hard  ).

There isn’t any room for thought beyond how good the breeding bitch beneath him feels. Nothing but the instinct that drives Joel’s cock hard into him, hands finding the back of the omega’s head to shove his cheek into the floor. He’ll feel bad about this later, but that doesn’t matter right now-- nothing matters but the gush of slick that guides the way home, or the slap of their skin or the perfect clench of pussy he hasn’t felt in ages.

He’d heard the way the omega keened, earlier. Heard the way his voice had risen the moment that nice, little button in him had been hit. The omega is clawing at the ground and it’s the prettiest thing in the world; Joel’s hips angle and angle until he finds that spot again, hands almost caressing the other man’s sides as he holds him in position.

“Fuck,” he groans, ragged and harsh as those soaked walls squeeze around his dick, “Jesus, baby, I’m gonna fill you, I promise.”

And Joel means it, too. Means it as he grasps the man’s waist, digging his nails into him like a claim. He smells so damn good-- smells sweet and addicting and so damn fertile Joel might lose his mind. He’s not sure he’s scented another person like him, but his nails drag down, down until he finds the man’s thighs, down until he can spread them wider and slap his palms on the floor to hold himself up.

The front of his jeans are soaked through with the mess that oozes out the man’s hole, the fabric at his knees dark as the mess beneath him spreads wider and wider. Joel shivers, but he pounds that hole deep, again and again so the omega’s bouncing with it, wet and hot.

“Ah, c’mon... squeeze ‘round daddy’s cock for me, baby. Make me knot you.”

[letsgetonwithit]

[healthkits-a]

unpreemp​:

Had he had his way,  Fabletown never would have been set up in New York City.   They all would have been up near The Farm,  taking advantage of having no neighbors for miles.   Bigby never thought this world would end too but it had and now he’s no one,  not the Big Bad Wolf or the Sheriff.   He can’t sniff out anyone else and almost doesn’t want to,  because it means leaving himself …   Vulnerable. Vulnerable like he is right now,  pants around his ankles as he shoves his entire fist into his leaking asshole. The Fireflies are convinced they can come up with a cure.   Sometimes that means sacrificng the immune.   Other times,  that means experimenting on Fables,  that never die because even now their stories live on (  most of them,  at least,  the popular ones.   Much like with The Adversary,  there have been casualties  ).   He doesn’t know what made them think an inducer was a good idea but he was able to get away before they could get their hands on him. Now he’s human and going out of his mind.   It’s been a long time since he’s suffered a heat.   As Sheriff he had the best ‘healthcare’ (  read: magic  ) that could be afforded to him.   His Huff and Puffs kept his senses dulled down and his scent from wafting towards anyone unsavory.   The last thing he had been thinking of when he crashed into the building was smoking. He’s been thinking of nothing but being knotted. Slick provides lubrication but it does nothing for the stretch.   Impatience had had him all too quickly shoving as many fingers into himself as possible,  whining and feet skidding on the ground even as his hole burned.   The skin of his rim is red with abuse and sometimes he can get the angle right,  knuckles hitting his prostate but it’s not enough.   He needs a knot,  needs an alpha,  like he never has before and— Oh.   He’s been found. There’s a small part of him,  the logical part,  that’s telling him to get his ass in gear in fight.   The omega,  however,  has him pulling his fingers out with a slick pop! and a tidal wave of his arousal spilling down the back of his thighs.   His gaping hole clenches around nothing,  too fucked open to close completely,  and he goes to look over his shoulder just in time for his hair to be grabbed and him to be made to.   He’s never smelled anyone so good.                ❝ Need it, ❞  he says,  some distant part of his acknowledging the other man is handsome but more importantly has what he needs.   ❝ Fuck me— ❞

Ohhh, fuck, if the way the omega’s slick drools out of his hole ain’t something. Joel doesn’t realise he’s growling, that the guttural sound is coming from his own throat, but the stranger’s legs are spread and his slick is pooling on the floor, and what the hell else is he supposed to do but take him?

He’s on his knees then, muttering a ‘yeah’. Yeah, he understands. Yeah, he gets it. Yeah, he knows the poor little bitch has been needy, he fucking smells it, wet and messy and legs spread for breeding.

So Joel slaps that round ass once, smears slick all over his palm, and then rubs it along the length of his own cock.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

The omega’s cunt is loose enough that the head of Joel’s dick settles nicely against puffy flesh for the split-second of patience he possesses. But he doesn’t think much before his hands clamp around the stranger’s hips and pull him back at the same time his own hips push forward.

And, God, he feels complete.

“Shit,” he hisses, a shudder travelling along his shoulders as his head dips down with overwhelm. Joel’s pelvis collides with the omega’s ass in a harsh smack, the poor baby’s wetness smearing between them, but Joel doesn’t wait before he starts moving slow and deep, then faster, then harsh as the thick weight of his cock starts stretching that already loose hole all the more in his impatience.

“Oh, fuck...”

Slick spurts out around the omega’s rim, soaking his dick and the front of his pants, and Joel grits his teeth as he thrusts in and in and into him, nails pressing into skin.

Feels so fucking good. God.

[healthkits-a]

It’s the smell that gets him, just as he rises from the tunnel and takes in a breath of fresh air. It’s sickly sweet, heavy in the air in a way that’s dangerous, and the most shocking thing is the fact he scents no rut completing it.

The fuck’s an omega doing out here alone?

Even as he thinks it, however, Joel drifts in their direction anyway.

He enters a dilapidated building a few feet away from the tunnel exit-- an old apartment complex, seems like. In the back of his mind he knows he has to get to Tess, has to deliver the ration cards from their new shipment of pills, but Joel breathes in deep and climbs stairs and stops only when the scent of the heat becomes cloying.

He shuts his eyes (God, the smell of it). His mouth waters (he’s too fucking old for this). In his jeans he’s gone hard just scenting it, that long-forgotten sense of ache starting to rise in his belly, and as much as logic dictates he leave and get the job done, Joel’s boots take him not downstairs, but towards one of the shut doors.

Fuck. The scent of heat trickles through the gap between the door and the floor. Jesus Christ.

And then he opens it.

It’s quite the sight that greets him: a man he’s never seen before, flushed in the face and the chest and the shoulders, legs spread and body trembling. His cock is hard, curved towards the belly, and Joel’s eyes zero in on the slick gushing out of him-- out from around his fist, what the fuck.

“Jesus.”

His own rut rises, spiced and hot as he grits his teeth. It’s sick, the wet sounds of this omega’s mess drooling around his hand, squishing out of his hole, and yet. And yet.

Joel’s mind flips off. His pack meets the floor. He comes forward, undoes his belt with clinking sounds that aren’t nearly as loud as the sound of this omega fucking himself-- which can’t be right, not when there’s an alpha right here-- and sinks to his knees on the floor with him.

“Take your fucking hand out.”

In the triangle formed by the opened fastenings of his jeans, Joel’s erection bulges in his underwear. One hand reaches out, gripping the omega’s hair to tilt his head back so he can glare at him.

“Alpha’s got you.”